


super cape-able

by RaeOfFrickingSunshine, smileymikey



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: F/M, they share a superhero suit and a single braincell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29065974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeOfFrickingSunshine/pseuds/RaeOfFrickingSunshine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileymikey/pseuds/smileymikey
Summary: Five people. One suit. What could possibly go wrong?aka the superhero au
Relationships: JJ & Kiara (Outer Banks), JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 44
Collections: Jiara January 2021





	super cape-able

**Author's Note:**

> this is alternative titled annie and mia going "omg and then what if" and calling it plot

"Guys we've lost him. We've lost him. We've lost comms," Pope flips down the headset, which is actually a pair of Sarah's old beats by Dre headphones with a microphone taped to the side. The tape required to hold the microphone in place makes the whole headset sit off centre on the wearer's head.

"We always lose comms," JJ points out idly. He's chewing on a pen and has ink all over his hands and lower arms. 

"It's been forty six minutes now," Pope squints at the timer to confirm. "And counting."

Kiara looks over with mild interest. "Camera?"

Pope sighs. "I repeat. Comms are down."

"Dog," JJ guesses. "White, fluffy."

"Definitely taking a selfie with some kids," Kiara theorises. She's tipped her head back to look over the couch, squinting through the door of the spare room.

"Engaging back up comms," Pope confirms. He flips a switch and there's nothing but static before John B's familiar voice fills the room. It's crackly and faint, but undeniable.

"...and so you use the toner before or after the distilled water?" he asks the girl before him interestedly. 

JJ sighs forlornly. "Dammit. I knew I should have gone for skincare."

"If I have to hear about his dry yet greasy skin damaged through the excessive water exposure I swear to God," Kiara mutters darkly. "It's almost time to switch. Bring him in."

Pope places the headset back on his ears and announces, "KC. Time to return to base. I repeat. Return to base. Over."

*

“...told you a million times!”

“I don’t see what the big deal is, Sarah.”

Even JJ knows that’s a mistake.

“Big deal!” Sarah screeches. JJ pours himself another bowl of cereal; clearly this isn’t going to be done anytime soon. “John B, you can’t sit cross-legged like that in the suit because you stretch out the knees, and then we’re left with saggy knees! No one has saggy knees! I do my squats every day to make sure that no matter what angle I am photographed at, I look good, but I can’t when I have saggy – fucking – _knees_!” 

“ _The Mighty Pogue rescues cat from tree_ ,” Pope reads aloud, on top of the shouting. “Any guesses?”

“I thought this was meant to be the difficult round,” Kiara says.

Pope looks up from his phone, looking a little wounded. “What do you mean? This is difficult! This could be anyone!”

“It’s obviously you,” Kiara says at the same time as JJ says, “Quite clearly you, Popey.”

Pope’s mouth opens and shuts a little in indignation, before he deflates and looks back down at his phone. “I just don’t understand,” he says, a little mournfully. “Why do I always get the fucking _cats_?”

JJ points at him with a spoon. “Not just the cats,” he says. “Also the occasional old lady – right, Kie?”

“Yesterday you helped that bird with the broken wing,” Kiara offers.

“I want to do something cool,” Pope says plaintively. “Where’s _my_ adventure? Where’s my bad guy? When do I get to fight someone on a rooftop and experience near death and be heralded a hero when I wake up?”

“As someone who’s had that happen a lot,” JJ says, mostly to be an asshole, “it’s really not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Pope gives him a look. “Yeah, thanks, JJ. Makes me feel much better.”

Across the kitchen, the fight is still going. “I think you have cute knees!” John B says.

“Okay, well then, don’t fucking stretch out the suit or the public won’t think so too!”

“Do you remember the days,” JJ says, to no one in particular, “where I would wake up to birdsong and the sun on my face?”

“Tell John B not to sit cross-legged in the suit,” Sarah hisses, with a surprising amount of savagery JJ wouldn’t think out of place in a street brawl. “Tell him, Pope.”

“It is so blissful, living by myself,” JJ muses.

“We have made your life _so_ much better, asshole,” Kiara says, and when JJ turns to look at her she has her long legs propped up on the table, crossed at the ankle, smirking at him. She reaches into the box of cereal and tosses a cornflake in the air, catching it in her mouth. JJ glances back into his own bowl and pretends it wasn’t terribly impressive.

“Keep me out of this,” Pope says. “I’m just on Twitter.”

Sarah gives them all the evil eye and then turns back to the sink, picking up a plate and scrubbing at it hard. He doesn’t need to be a mind reader like her to know that she’s envisioning life in the alternate universe where they don’t all have to share one suit. JJ’s pretty sure her happy place is imagining the configuration of rhinestones across the back.

“What are the headlines today?” John B says. “Are we playing _Guess The Pogue_?”

“You bet,” Pope says. “Here, this one: _The Mighty Pogue catches jewel thief carrying nearly ten thousand dollars in jewellery; grateful store pays them back with a beautiful diamond necklace_.”

“Pope, you really need to learn the definition of difficult,” Kiara says. “Obviously Sarah.”

“Definitely Sarah,” JJ agrees.

Sarah turns around at that. “Why do you think it’s me?”

“Uh, because you’re always saving people at the mall?”

“Sorry I’m being economical,” Sarah says, with a sniff. “Do you know the amount of coupons I get when I catch people stealing food? Besides, that wasn’t even me.”

“It was me, actually,” John B says, and everyone swivels to look at him. “What? I’m sometimes at the mall too! He was actually quite a nice man. I thought he’d be Russian because they always are in the movies but he was from Tennessee. You know he has two ailing daughters? I gave him the necklace because I felt bad.”

They all stare at him for a moment. “You gave the man the beautiful diamond necklace?” Sarah says.

John B looks confused. “Yes? He needed it more than us. What would we have done with a diamond necklace?”

Sarah’s eye twitches. Before she can start another squabble and potential water fight, JJ quickly intercepts. “So,” he says loudly, putting his spoon down with a clatter. “Whose turn is it tonight, anyway? It's not been my go in ages."

"You gave up your next turn to get out of doing the dishes," Kiara reminds him.

"That was last week-" JJ protests. 

"Last week was to get out of spotting Pope," John B recalls idly. He's flicking his fingers towards the sink and the faucet turns on and off as Sarah requires. His girlfriend sighs heavily. 

"Yeah," Pope mutters woundedly. "I had an interesting theory about Indra I wanted to run past you-"

JJ catches Kiara's gaze and widens his eyes theatrically. 

"He was too busy out trying to get his dick wet for crack theories," Sarah cuts in dismissively.

The reaction is immediate. The faucet turns on full power, hitting the dish in Sarah's hand at precisely the right angle for a tidal wave to coat Sarah's jeans and top. One of the many plant pots balanced on top of the kitchen cabinets cracks, soil and earth raining to the ground. Tentacles of the succulent cascade towards Sarah, who ducks out of their way. The whole room heats up by several degrees.

Sarah lets the dish drop back into the sink. Sighs despondently. "Inside thought?" she guesses.

"We agreed no telepathy on Pogues," Pope begins sternly.

"He was all dressed up smart and drowned in cologne. It hardly takes a mind-reader to realise-" Sarah seems to mentally check herself. Then, with sincerity, "I'm sorry, JJ. I swear I try not to. You're just very loud sometimes. You and Kie," Sarah waves towards Kiara vaguely, "there's a lot going on. John B - there's about as much going on inside as there is outwardly. Less, maybe."

"Thanks, babe," John B mutters. 

JJ picks up his spoon once more and the room drops back to its median temperature. "Try harder, freak."

"We'll work on those mind blocks so they're there even when you're not concentrating on them," Sarah promises. 

The room's occupants return to their previous activities, although slightly more subdued. Tentacles of the succulent with the broken pot have wound into Sarah's hair and are tugging at the strands. Sarah bats at then. Then, in frustration, "Kie!'

"Whoops," Kiara says, "sorry," in her least apologetic tone. The tentacle recedes. She sees Sarah's curious look, so focuses on the so-called mind block technique Sarah's been trying to teach them. She thinks of vines and trees and a jungle between her thoughts and Sarah, and there's the gentle swishing of leaves as all the plants in the apartment respond. 

Pope, who for the most part has been staring resolutely down at his phone, glances up like he’s checking that they’ve both finished sniping at each other. (Which Kiara resents, mostly because as the highly-strung leader of the whole operation Pope has done the most passive-aggressive sniping of them all.) “So, uh,” he says, “not to derail the conversation, but the Pogue shift…?”

Sarah drops the plate in the sink. “I’ll do it,” she says, and then turns on her heel and leaves, swatting at a _Hedera helix_ that still lingers in the doorway.

“I didn’t know you went on a date, JJ,” John B says, in the ensuing silence. “How was it?”

JJ coughs a little, and pushes his cereal back. “Okay.”

“Do we know her?”

“No.”

“Was she that pizza delivery girl?” Pope says. “The one who left you her number?”

John B frowns. “The pizza girl left _me_ her number.”

“Are you joking? No she didn’t.”

“It was addressed to _J_.”

“Yeah, for John.”

“For _JJ_. Aka the name on the order.”

John B looks floored. Kiara can’t help but snort. “Why are you so offended? It’s not like you’re looking for someone.”

“I didn’t want her number romantically. I talked to her for about five minutes when I answered the door about what cleansers are best for prolonged exposure to water. You know she does lifeguarding in her free time?” This is said to JJ and Pope, who both blink at him.

“We did not,” says JJ. 

John B looks bummed. “Man, I thought she wanted to become friends. Did she mention me at all?”

“I didn’t go on a date with her,” JJ says. 

“You should consider it. A lifeguard would be a good member of our team.” John B stands, stretching his arms above the head, and then checks his watch. “Oh, I should be heading off soon, my shift starts in forty minutes. Popey, do we have any of those breakfast bars left? With the chocolate chips in them?”

JJ throws a piece of cereal in the air and catches it deftly in his mouth. “I finished them yesterday.”

“Damn it. I’ll have to buy some on my way to work.” John B works at the local pool teaching kids how to swim. Kiara visits sometimes whenever she needs to pose as his girlfriend to fend off all the moms who insist on getting in the pool with their children. (Sarah has been banned from the pool because she growled at one of the moms. Kiara knows JJ is secretly hoping she does too so he can play the doting husband.) “Do I need to pick up any groceries on the way back?”

Pope glances up from his phone, looking a little insulted. “Did you check my weekly grocery list before asking that?”

John B regards him with some caution. “Should I have?” 

“I didn’t buy a stick-on whiteboard and a pack of erasable markers for you to not. They’re chisel-tip, JB. Chisel. Tip.”

“It just says alcohol,” JJ says, head tipped upside-down to look at it where it’s stuck to the fridge. Pope makes an indignant sound and splutters something about desecrating the sanctity of the grocery list and how his chisel-tip pens were bought for intentional meal-planning, but John B just flashes them a mildly afraid thumbs-up and sensibly disappears through the door.

“Lucky escape,” Kiara says as she watches him go. Pope kicks at her, and she throws a cornflake at him.

“Children,” JJ comments.

“Don’t condescend to me,” Pope says, with a contemptuous sniff. He looks back down at his phone, and then frowns. “Wait, one of us stopped an infamous bank robber last week?”

“That was me,” Kiara says. “You know how much he was wanted for? Five hundred thousand dollars.”

Pope stares at her for a long moment, and then throws his phone down on the table with a clatter. “Un-fucking-believable.”

“Your big bad wanted cat will come soon,” JJ tells him sweetly, and Pope flips him off.

Before either of them can say another word -- doubtless Pope trying to defend his latest animal-stuck-in-a-tree rescue as a heroic feat only achievable by someone of his caliber -- Sarah’s bedroom door creaks open. From it, Sarah herself emerges, now wearing the Pogue suit, mask hooked over her elbow as she finishes braiding her hair into two neat French braids.

"I don’t know whose idea it was to put in a full mask,” she tells the room as she enters. Sarah never wastes time with pleasantries as she comes and goes; Kiara admits it is a quality she admires. “I still think we could go for half a face mask. Eyes obscured. Then I could go for a bold lip nail combo.”

"They're going to notice a difference between a blonde white woman and a black guy," Pope dismisses quickly. 

"Fine," Sarah pouts. "We could at least change from the green though. It really doesn't flatter anyone with yellow undertones in their complexion."

"It was a majority decision," Pope points out. 

"Well, I didn't vote."

"It was before John B dragged you into this shit show," JJ tells the counter. He has produced a yoghurt pot from out of thin air now that he’s finished his cereal, the spoon in his mouth. "Back when our thoughts were safe." JJ turns finally, surveys Sarah in the green and black panelled suit that forms the Pogue. "Alexa," he says aloud. "Play _Baggy Trousers._ "

"Fuck you," Sarah chirps cheerfully. She snaps the mask over her head and hair and tucks the ends of her braids into the neck of the suit. The voice masking tech kicks in, making her speech neutral as she says, "diver down."

"Diver down," Pope, JJ and Kiara chorus back dutifully. There's the sound of the kitchen window opening, and then the rattle as Sarah jumps out onto the fire escape. 

“ _She’ll_ probably stop a bank robber too,” Pope says gloomily, after a long pause. “Another infamous one. Worth six hundred thousand dollars.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Kiara says mildly. Alongside all the other shit they have pinned to the minifridge in HQ is a current ranking of the most notorious criminals they have caught. Currently Kiara’s cool half-mill has everyone else beat. The previous record was held by JJ, who accidentally stopped a smuggling operation. (Kiara claimed it didn’t count, because JJ only got lucky that his accidental destruction of a harbour turned out to the main dropping point for a range of smuggled illegalities, but JJ wrote it down anyway.) “And who knows Popey? Maybe the next cat you rescue is the President’s.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England,” Pope retorts, but he looks momentarily appeased by this idea. “Whatever. I should probably be heading off soon, too, anyway; I promised Peterkin that I’d go with her to a council meeting about recycling.”

“She should really hire you, you know,” JJ remarks, as Pope stands and clears away his cereal bowl. “You’re basically her assistant at this point.”

Pope wrinkles his nose at the mention of their landlord. “She claims she only flies ‘solo’, whatever that means,” he says distastefully. “Like _she’s_ the fucking superhero instead.”

“I mean, she is the building manager,” Kiara says. “Practically the same thing.”

“I think I’m wearing her down, though. Yesterday she smiled at me in the elevator.”

JJ bites down thoughtfully on the end of his spoon. “Are you sure that wasn’t her baring her teeth at you? Like as an intimidation tactic?”

Kiara points at him. “Like on Animal Planet?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

(Kiara and JJ watch a lot of Animal Plant when they’re meant to be spotting. In their defence, John B barely needs to be spotted; he mostly just talks to people about the benefits of organic broccoli instead of actual superhero work. Though he would argue that talking to people is the most important superhero work.)

“I’m about forty percent sure it was a smile,” Pope says. “And she didn’t say no when I asked to come today.”

“But did she say yes?”

“I don’t see how that’s important, _JJ_ ,” Pope sniffs, which means she did not. Kiara hides her smile behind her phone. “I’m networking. It’s important for us to network.”

“I’d respect the grind if your end goal was getting her to lower the rent or not bust you for overcrowding, but you’re literally just sucking up to her because you’re still a teacher’s pet.”

“And I care about building management,” Pope says. He grabs his coat from the back of the couch. “Don’t deface my grocery list when I’m out.”

Kiara already sees the gears turn in JJ’s head with all the ways he can deface it, so she says, “We’ll try.” 

Pope gives them a look that clearly states he does not believe them in the slightest, but he comes around and gives them each a friendly pat on the head anyway as he picks up his bag from the counter. “I’ll be back before dinner,” he says. “Make sure Sarah stays out of trouble.”

“Stay safe, snookums,” Kiara says. Pope throws up a middle finger over his shoulder as he leaves the kitchen; she’s also half-certain that the loud slam of the door was not accidental. She smiles fondly after him.

“I’m thinking either seventeen egg yokes or a pound of crack cocaine,” JJ says, in the ensuing silence. “For the grocery list. Sarah can take responsibility for them both.”

Kiara pushes her chair back with a loud noise. “Stop wreaking havoc and come spot with me.”

“Ugh, you must take the fun out of everything,” JJ says theatrically as he pulls himself to his feet, but he obediently follows her out of the kitchen and into the spare bedroom they use as their main operation base. It’s by far the smallest room in the whole apartment -- Sarah unwilling to give up her master bedroom -- but what it lacks in size it makes up for the sheer quantity of things inside it. The bed, a small single that is occupied by at least one of them every night, has been pushed against the wall to make room for the desk that takes up half the room, covered in screens and monitors and Kiara’s old pink speakers from her college dorm. The five of them are pretty good at maintaining even a modicum of plausible deniability for most of their Pogue-related operations -- e.g. having a Pogue poster in the living room in case anyone finds the Pogue suit and they need to try and convince them they’re simply massive fans -- but this room is by far the most incriminating thing. Kiara’s not exactly sure how they could explain it away. Even streaming is out the window because of Pope’s industrial Pogue shift timetable on the wall, which he refuses to take down.

Kiara switches on the monitor and collapses in one of the spinny chairs, kicking her feet up on the desk. As though it can sense her mood, the peace lily on the windowsill by her reaches one of its leaves to brush her face, another tangling in her hair, and she bats it away absently. 

"Ugh," JJ says, and when she turns to face him, he’s crouched in front of the minifridge, peering distastefully in it. “Why the fuck do we only have mineral water?” 

“Sarah’s on a diet.”

“Of mineral water?”

“And crab meat. She’s also allowed dairy products but only after seven.” The aloe leaf in her hair gives a particularly hard tug as it predictably gets tangled, and she makes a frustrated sound and blindly reaches back to set it free. “Fuck.”

“Need a hand?” JJ says mildly.

“Should be fine,” Kiara says, and just snaps the leaf straight off. The aloe plant retreats, rebuked, and she drops the leaf back in its pot, wiping the sap on her pants. “They’re just a little all over the place today.”

“Mm.” 

Suspiciously, she looks at him. He purposely avoids her eyes, still innocently perusing the fridge. “What?”

“What what?”

“What was that look?”

“What look? I’m just looking in the fridge.”

“There’s nothing in there except water, there’s nothing to look for. What was _mm_?”

JJ closes the minifridge, empty-handed, and drops into his own chair. "Just... the whole Sarah thing earlier - you seemed pissed."

Kiara's jaw tightens, the humour dropping from her face. She shrugs one shoulder. "Yeah. I guess.”

JJ waits. She sighs.

“It’s just-- you know, she could read my thoughts for a whole year - she knew about the Pogue and everything I'd left behind for college. She knew how I - how I felt. It's an invasion of privacy. I just think it's something you should mention to people before becoming their best friend."

"Yeah," JJ agrees quietly. He looks at the monitors in front of them - from the inlaid camera, Sarah is patrolling the street. 

Kiara thinks JJ gets it more than most. There's a reason JJ maintains his own apartment when the whole operation relocated to Sarah’s penthouse and stubbornly has two jobs to keep up with the rental payments, despite Sarah's generous offers. There's a reason JJ pursues the most risky opportunities as the Pogue. 

"She's been trying - and she's teaching us mind blocks," JJ defends quietly. For someone so offensive, he's staunchly defensive of all contributors to the Pogue. 

"I know," Kiara throws a skittle into the air and misses catching it in her mouth. A Venus fly trap behind her grows three times the size and snaps shut victoriously. Kiara tugs loose a curl caught in the crossfire. "It's just - what you do in your own time is your own business. Dating and whatever. You don't want Sarah in your head at the point of climax, do you?"

JJ's abandoned looking at the screen now to look at Kiara. She keeps her bare feet balanced on the console unit, reclining back in the spinny chair Pope usually claims. The headset is around her neck. "It wasn't a date-"

Kiara waves a hand. "It's your business. That's the point."

“I know. But you’re my friend, too.”

“We should be allowed to have things in our lives outside of the Pogue that the others don’t necessarily need to know about, otherwise we’ll go crazy. We already live in each other’s back pockets enough as it is.”

She can feel JJ’s eyes on her. “Is that what you think?”

“I’m just saying. It’s fine if you’re-- going on dates--”

“I know it’s fine.”

“I just don’t want any of us to feel like we can’t do other things.”

There is a pause. JJ says, voice inscrutable, “Do _you_ want to do other things?”

For a long moment Kiara doesn’t respond, and by the time she does she’s afraid her silence revealed a little too much. “No. I was just-- you know. In case someone else does.”

JJ’s gaze feels a little too knowing. “Mm.”

Kiara needs to get out from his watchful gaze, and stands abruptly. “I’m gonna get-- snacks,” she says. “Do you need anything?”

Thankfully, the tension eases, and JJ snorts, kicking his own feet up on the desk. “I’m gonna try and see how long I can do a Sarah surveillance sober. Bets?”

“Forty minutes.”

“Pope bet an hour.”

“No way will you last an hour.”

JJ grins at her. “Ten dollars?”

“A Pogue shift.”

“Oh, you’re so on.” They shake on it. “Don’t be too long; I said sober, not sane.”

Kiara rolls her eyes, but she does pick up pace as she leaves to go to the kitchen. Admittedly, there’s not much to choose from, unless she wants to start rummaging through John B’s cupboard, which is doubtless filled with protein bars and asparagus, but she does remember stashing a box of Goldfish somewhere, in Pope’s cupboard, because Pope only ever raids everyone else’s.

Bingo. It’s still there. She pulls it out -- still half-full, perfect -- and then takes a can of beer for the road. She’s been here before. So long as she leaves the beer within JJ’s grasp he’ll be at least sipping from it within twenty minutes.

Take that, Pope.

By the time she comes back into the control room, JJ’s managed to get Sarah’s comms working, so the screen reflects what the camera sewn into the suit sees. He is leant over the speakers, fiddling with the volume, Sarah’s voice coming out in barely louder than a murmur. “Testing, testing, one two three, testing…”

“HQ to Man Killer,” JJ says into the microphone, looking a little pained as he always does when he has to say Sarah’s codename aloud. “Man Killer, can you hear us?”

“I can hear you,” Sarah’s voice says, now suddenly so loud that the room almost shakes. JJ immediately turns the volume dial down. “Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Kiara says. “Very very loud.”

JJ sticks his middle finger up at her. She blows him a kiss.

“If you think just because you’re not talking I can’t sense the sexual tension you’re wrong,” Sarah says. “Is there anything urgent for me to deal with?”

Kiara glances at the inert landline lying next to her. Pope set it up a while ago for people to call in to report crime; for the next week their Pogue shifts had mainly consisted of posting fliers across town with the hotline number. It’s worked pretty well as a system, aside from the prank calls, and to this day functions as their main source on where in the city needs help. “Not yet,” she says. “We’ll let you know when someone calls.”

Sarah gives a thumbs-up to the camera.

For the next ten minutes, there’s nothing. Sarah prowls around the main street for a while, before she finally ends up wandering into the mall. JJ tries to balance a pen on the end of his nose, and every time it falls he sends a mournful look to the beer can on the desk. Kiara smirks to herself, and then, as the pen balances for over three seconds, she subtly presses her foot into the floorboard by the leg of his chair, throwing off his balance and sending the pen clattering to the floor.

“Aw, man,” he says.

Sarah’s voice comes immediately. “Man? What man? Where?”

Kiara presses her lips together to stop herself from smiling. JJ scowls at the pen on the floor. “No man. Don’t worry.”

Amusedly, Kiara turns back to the monitor, idly zooming in and out of the video playing from Sarah’s camera. So far, nothing out of the ordinary: just rows of storefronts cruising past as Sarah passes deeper into the mall. Kiara notices with a twinge of humour the way the camera pauses on a jewellery store as Sarah evidently casts it a longing look. She’s like a crow in that way, always on the hunt for something shiny. No doubt she’s probably keeping a close berth to see if she can score the diamond necklace reward this time.

She’s in her civilian clothing at the moment, Pope’s design of the suit meaning that it appears as a simple shirt and jeans until activated with a code word – _mutatio,_ Latin for change, because Pope is a fucking nerd – so when Kiara first spots the man speedily approaching her she feels her chest seize a little in anxiety, wondering if she’s about to see her friend get assaulted on camera. He certainly doesn’t look like he’s about to ask her whether she has the time to answer some questions about the ice caps; there’s an off-putting, almost feverish look in his eyes that has Kiara’s hand inching towards her own microphone, about to tell Sarah to look out.

However, as he draws nearer, her hand falters in its movement, and she leans in closer to the screen -- because, as she suddenly realises, it’s not just any man.

“Holy shit,” she murmurs, and JJ glances at her in alarm. “Is that...?”

Sarah’s voice is shocked through the speakers. “ _Rafe_?”

Rafe Cameron does not look good. Kiara can’t ever say she became terribly familiar with him, only having met him a couple of times at parties throughout the years of Sarah’s friendship, but the smarmy lecherous boy she remembers could not be further from the pale, agitated man standing in front of them now. He’s still wearing those god awful salmon-coloured shorts but it washes him out now, makes him look jaundiced and ill instead of pompous.

“Who’s Rafe?” JJ says.

Kiara doesn’t respond. She can’t pull her eyes away from him.

“Sarah,” Rafe says. His eyes are red, lips chapped. He puts his hands in his pockets. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

There is a long, fraught pause. JJ prompts, “Rafe?”

“Sarah’s brother,” Kiara says, distractedly. “I didn’t realise he was still in town.”

“What are you doing here?” Sarah says.

Rafe holds out his hands. “What, no warm welcome?”

Sarah’s voice is flat. “Hi, Rafe. You look like shit. What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting.” He looks around at all the storefronts. “You know, the Pogue was here only a few days ago. Stopped a jewel thief, if you can believe it.”

Kiara feels the breath catch a little in her throat. She hears Sarah swallow before coolly responding, “I can.”

Rafe appraises her. “You a fan?”

“Does he know?” JJ says to her in a low voice.

Kiara watches Rafe’s face. His hair is limp, greasy; he hasn’t washed it in a while. “He shouldn’t.”

“Who are you visiting?” Sarah says.

“What, is this Twenty Questions?”

“Rafe.”

“People. Friends.” A long pause. “You.”

“Rafe--”

“How are you?” he says. “Still living with-- whatsherface? Kayla?”

“Kiara.”

“She know about the tele--”

Sarah cuts him off sharply. “Yes.”

“The telepathy?” JJ says. “How does _he_ know that?”

Kiara sets her jaw. “Sarah’s not the only Cameron who can mind-fuck.”

JJ goggles. “That son of a bitch can read minds _too_?”

“It’s a bit worse than that.”

“How’s she doing?” Rafe says.

“Don’t really see why you care.”

“You should tell her I said hi.”

“Okay.” Sarah’s voice states quite clearly she won’t. Kiara feels herself go a little green at the thought. JJ’s brow furrows and he glances at her. 

“Hey, listen,” Rafe says, “now that I have you here--”

“What?”

He at least has the gall to look a little awkward when he admits, “I kind of need to borrow some money.”

Sarah folds her arms. “What about Dad?”

“You know I can’t--”

“Why not?”

Rafe sighs. For the first time, the facade drops a little, and suddenly Kiara realises just how rough he looks. “Dad and I aren’t exactly… speaking right now.”

“And why’s that?”

Rafe doesn’t respond. The camera lowers to where his fingers are tapping against his leg, following Sarah’s head; they haven’t stopped moving since they started talking. Kiara doesn’t get it until she hears JJ exhale harshly next to her, and the camera lifts to Rafe’s guilty face.

“Are you fucking serious?” Sarah hisses. “You’re on fucking drugs again?”

“Sarah, I--”

“What do you need the money for?”

“It’s gotten worse.”

“What has?”

“The… the illusions. I can’t do them anymore.”

JJ glances at Kiara sharply. “He can do _illusions_?”

“Not anymore, apparently,” Kiara murmurs.

“I just need some money so I can afford rent,” Rafe begins, “just until I can get better--” but Sarah cuts him off.

“You’re not getting better because you’re snorting cocaine off motorcycles every three seconds, Rafe, no shit it’s going to do something to your brain and ruin your powers.”

“So…”

“So that means fucking _no_ , I’m not giving you money.”

“But--”

“ _No_.”

For a long moment, there is a pause. Rafe just stands, surveying her. Even though there’s a screen between them Kiara still feels a chill run down her spine. He’s always had the crazy eyes, even back when he wasn’t coked up to the hills. “You know,” he says, finally, “there are whispers of a dead pool floating around.”

“Are you on it? How much do I have to pay?”

“Not me. Superheroes.”

Next to her, JJ goes very still. Carefully, Sarah says, “Is that so.”

“Some names go for pretty high rewards, I hear.”

“What are you suggesting?”

Rafe shrugs. “Nothing. Just that a power like yours could come in handy.” Sarah doesn’t respond. “Just letting you know. Good talk, little sister.”

“Well,” JJ says aloud, once Kiara’s muted the speaker once more. “That was ominous.”

“What does that mean?” she says. “A deadpool? Are we-- are we on it?”

JJ tosses a goldfish in the air; it bounces off his cheek. “Shit,” he mumbles, leaning down to retrieve it. (Sarah gets fussy with crumbs on the floor.) “Well, if we are, we better be worth a lot. Need to know if I’m ever in a rough patch I can sell one of you down the river and be good for life.”

“It can be Pope,” Kiara says. “He’s the most expendable.”

“Don’t get brave, Carerra. Plants? You’re the first to go.”

She flips him off, and then steals the box of goldfish from his lap for good measure. JJ makes a feeble attempt at snatching it back, but gives up easily, flicking the speakers back on so Sarah’s voice fills the room. “So,” he says, into the microphone. “He seems friendly.”

“Fuck off, JJ,” Sarah snaps. A passer-by looks insulted. “Sorry, not you. Bluetooth.”

“How long were you planning on hiding a mind-fucking brother, Cameron, mm?”

Mutinously, Sarah mutters, “As long as I could. All our lives would be better if we didn’t know about him. Especially mine.”

“Exactly how much mind-fuckery are we talking, here, anyway? We can use hallucinogens as reference points, like on a scale of 1 to LSD. I feel like it would just be very topically relevant.”

Kiara isn’t sure, but she would bet a lot of money on Sarah having just rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, like… making people think they’re seeing things. Like shadows that look like people. Your reflection isn’t your face. Your spaghetti is worms. The works.”

“Jesus.” JJ looks like he’s not sure whether to be impressed or nauseated. “Should we be afraid? That someone who can do that also knows of a superhero deadpool that we might be on?”

Kiara stares at him. “The deadpool itself isn’t enough to freak you out?”

“Not if we’re up against lame-ass humans without powers. I don’t want to go up against a Jedi.” At Kiara’s blank look: “Jedi? Star Wars? Jesus. We need to make that happen.”

“Can you guys not flirt in my Comms, please?” Sarah snips. “This is serious.”

Kiara pops a goldfish in her mouth, letting JJ and Sarah’s squabbling fade to the background. Sarah’s come a long way since they first met in college, so much so that the Sarah of today and the Sarah of five years ago feel like two different people: but seeing Rafe again today, after all these years, is a stark reminder of the person she used to be. They were always two sides of the same coin, the Cameron siblings, both of them elite and glamorous and magnetic enough that Kiara remembers feeling helpless against the pull. (Rafe wasn’t so good at keeping people around after the initial pull. He was always just that little bit _too_ slimy.) Both also master manipulators, too, Sarah able to pry into her head and sense her greatest desires, her deepest fears, then make herself palatable enough that Kiara remembers wondering how on Earth she had found someone so compatible -- someone who just understood her so innately. _Soul sisters_ , Sarah had said.

Of course, Sarah then grew up when she learned that reading someone’s thoughts was considered an invasion of privacy and a bit of a shitty thing to do. Evidently, though, Rafe didn’t. And though Sarah’s come such a long way, seeing Rafe now, drugged up and begging for money, the sliminess turned to something almost sinister, Kiara thinks of just how slippery a slope being able to wield so much power is. God knows there have been times she’s felt like she’s balancing on a precipice of going too far, and she controls fucking _plants_.

She can’t imagine how it must be, for people like Sarah and John B and JJ, who have powers that can so easily be used for destruction. It’s sometimes enough to make her want her to just throw in the towel and lock herself away before she can let something like that happen to her.

“I’m not going to ask him how much we’re worth, Jesus,” Sarah is saying when Kiara tunes back in.

“You could be our agent on the inside,” JJ protests.

“I’d be too tempted to turn you in.”

But she could never leave them behind. Kiara watches them fondly, her smile widening when JJ says, “Oh, like you’re not our most expendable member?” and then looks outraged when Sarah says in response, “If I had one of your janky-ass lighters and a can of hairspray I could do fire, but you could _never_ do telepathy.”

At the end of the day, it all boils down to this, now: good-naturedly squabbling in Sarah’s spare bedroom, in the apartment they all share -- her _family_. There are some moments where it all seems useless, like they are putting all this work for nil, where to up and leave would just be so easy. But these moments, the time she gets to spend with her closest friends -- this makes it all worth it.

“Jesus,” JJ says, turning off Sarah’s microphone. She is still talking, unaware she’s been silenced. “I’m too sober for this shit.”

He cracks open the beer and takes a long sip. Kiara pushes all her thoughts to the back of her head and instead smugly flashes her phone proclaiming the time at him.

“Thirty-seven minutes,” she says, and JJ stares at the beer in his hand like it’s just betrayed him. “You owe me a Pogue shift.”

He looks down at his beer grimly. “It was worth it,” he decides, finally. “Cheers.”

She taps her own cup against his proffered can, and together they drink.

*

Because JJ is a conniving piece of shit, he ends up managing to get Pope to take on the shift instead. Kiara is half-convinced that Pope only took it in the hopes of tricking the universe into giving him a shift consisting of something other than old women who need help across the road, or birds trapped in hedges, but whatever his reasoning, it means that they both have the night off as John B and Sarah stay in HQ on watch.

What it also means is when Pope demands that someone follow a suspected lead he has on a perp they’ve been tracking, they’re the ones who have to go.

“Stake-outs are the worst,” Kiara complains as she shifts in the front seat of their borrowed stakeout car. The Twinkie is the preferable vehicle of choice for such operations, but it doesn’t fit in with the neighbourhood they’re lurking in.

“Where the fuck did he even get a Tesla, anyway?” JJ complains. He flicks the insignia on the door in protest. Kiara is naturally sitting in the driver's seat, considering she is the only one present who possesses a full licence and no speeding or parking tickets. 

As temperatures tend to do at night, it’s gotten colder. There are no hoodies on the back seat to pull on; no abandoned jacket. Kiara hugs her arms around her shoulders and burrows her chin into her elbow.

JJ looks over. “Why did Batman and Robin quit going fishing together?”

Kiara suppresses the smile that threatens to tilt her lips upwards. “I don’t know. Why?”

“Because Robin kept eating all the worms.”

Kiara coughs smally and swallows her instinctive grin. “Why was Pope the only kid at the playground?”

JJ’s turned so he’s facing her, his shoulder propped against the window. “Because he’s a nerd and bored everyone else out of their mind?”

“Because the sign said all children required super-vision,” Kiara elbows JJ in the ribs. 

He’s in a t-shirt and shorts, nothing more, despite the sky being cloudless and the air rapidly cooling. He has to be reminded to wear more than shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops in the dead of winter; Pope reprimanding him that it’s not considered normal to be traipsing around melting snow and single handedly defeating frostbite. Heat radiates off him like sunshine from his skin. 

“So fucking unfair that you get fire,” Kiara complains. 

“Here.” JJ looks out the windscreen as he throws his arm around her shoulders. There’s blazing heat where his skin comes into contact with the skin of the nape of her neck. Kiara resists the urge to close her eyes and lean back into the contact. Warmth spreads from her neck down her spine, through her ribs, her limbs. At her sideways look, at her lips parted in confusion, JJ mutters, “just so you don’t go manifesting a blanket of roses or some shit.”

“Roses have thorns,” she reminds him, but she’s too happy basking in the warmth to protest too much. “And you wouldn’t appreciate them.”

“Ivy, then.”

“Poison ivy.”

“Well obviously non-poison ivy.”

“You’re not deserving of anything but poison ivy,” Kiara mutters. She shifts surreptitiously in her seat so she can turn her head and press her chin into JJ’s wrist. 

“Au contraire, you got me a non-ivy plant that one time-”

“An _Anthurium_ ,” Kiara recalls with mild offence. “And I still have to come around and make sure it’s not dead.”

“That’s because you actually know fuck all about plants without your weird-ass voodoo shit-”

“Shut up, lava-boy-”

“Fire,” JJ corrects primly. “Pyrokinesis, fire mimicry, thermal manipulations and pyroportation, actually.”

“Gee,” Kiara wouldn’t call the movement she makes towards JJ as snuggling but. It’s not too far removed. “Someone’s been on Wikipedia.”

JJ shrugs. The movement ripples down his arm and knocks into her head. Kiara scowls at him. “Pope says if I figure out what I have maybe I can control it better.”

“There’s been like, three months since an apartment fire-” Kiara defends hotly.

“That’s what I said!”

“And John B’s getting really good at putting them out-”

“Exactly! And we all know what he’s like. He needs some direction. Some purpose. Makes him feel useful.”

Pope calls them over the car’s interface. JJ sighs through his nose before he clicks answer. There’s something about the suspected perp being out of town for the weekend and to head back to base and _for God’s sake do not hurt the Tesla._

Kiara negotiates the streets carefully. She hears JJ’s belt clipping into place after the second over-eager brake use. His hands splay across the dashboard in brace position. His hand has moved to her wrist; fingers idly looped around the bones there. Warmth emanates up her arm from the feather light contact.

Kiara parks the Tesla in the fancy parking lot below Sarah’s apartment block. They exit through the service exit and with some minor wheedling from JJ, Kiara shoots a vine to the apartment and they clamber up the three stories to the fire escape. Kiara always goes below JJ ever since the whole falling from the Empire State building incident and having to hastily cast some emergency ivy around his limbs. The resulting rope burn still gets brought up in arguments.

Besides, it’s not as though the view from below is a bad one.

“Oh, hello,” says John B as they tumble through the window in quick succession. Kiara lands entangled on JJ, who’s sprawled on the floor.

John B’s phone is propped on the TV stand and it’s owner is sat on a wooden box in front of the couch. “You’re just in time,” John B continues merrily. “I really think I’ve got it, this time. I was straining for bass when I should have been focussed on tenor.”

“Sweet Jesus,” JJ complains. He digs a finger into Kiara’s side so she reluctantly rolls over and JJ can heave himself up. “I keep telling you, dude. It’s not gonna happen.”

“JJ,” John B protests. “The sea is literally in my blood. I am the son of pirates and seamen-”

“We’ve talked about seamen,” Kiara mutters from the floor. “You said you’d stop mentioning seamen.”

“Oh, grow up, Kie,” John B snaps. “I clearly mean men of the sea. Everyone knows that.” He glowers with such vigor that Kiara feels obliged to hold her hands up in pacification. Somewhat appeased, John B turns to JJ. “Now - JJ. Help me with this TikTok.”

Kiara wanders from the living room into the spare room. Sarah’s sitting in front of the monitor, hunched over her phone. The sound of drumming emerges from the living room. 

“He’s been at it all - fucking - evening,” Sarah grits out as she glances up. On screen, Pope appears to be slowly scaling a tree towards some indeterminate animal.

“Is that a dog?” Kiara gestures towards the image.

Sarah hums lightly. Scrolls the mouse to zoom in. “Nope. Just one motherfucking big cat.”

“Christ,” Kiara says admiringly. “Still, it’ll give him something to talk about.”

Sarah places the headset on her head and presses the microphone. “I must say, Popey, you’re getting very speedy at scaling these trees.”

“Fuck. You,” is the panted response. Sarah looks satisfied as she slides the headphones to her neck and leans back once more. From the other room, there’s some muffled attempts of what sounds like singing. 

“I never should have shown him those sea shanties,” Kiara sighs regretfully. “He’s really taken them to heart.”

Sarah looks more magnanimous than the situation perhaps warrants. “He probably would have found them anyway. He’s constantly searching water or sea on TikTok. It was only a matter of time.”

Through the walls, the sea shanty is a mumble of reluctant words from JJ, and a strong yet warbling attempt from John B. There’s indistinct chastisement from John B in between each take.

They watch as the cat waits until Pope is within a foot and almost in reach, and then with a plaintive mew it leaps deftly from the high branch it’s perched on and all the way down to safety. Sarah snorts ungracefully.

There’s a half formed shriek from the living room. Sarah and Kiara’s heads snap towards the source. Years of street wise smarts and enhanced instincts kick in. Kiara can feel her heartrate accelerating. Sees the plants in the room flicker in time with it. 

“Uh - Kie,” calls John B, with practiced calm. “You got a minute?”

Sarah and Kiara share a look. Sarah casts a look at the screen, where Pope has begun the slow descent down the tree. With another yelp from the other room, they both abandon their station and rush towards the commotion.

JJ is hastily withdrawing fire from the couch whilst John B concentrates a jet of water towards the curtains.

“Kiara!” John B enthuses as she rounds the corner. “You might just want to move that fern there, because I know they don’t like too much moisture and it may be in the splash zone-” then, as Sarah rounds the corner and shoulders her way through the doorway, John B’s face falls minutely. “Sarah! Nothing to worry about! All under control!”

A spark flies from the on fire sofa and lands next to Sarah’s foot. JJ resumes patting frantically. 

Kiara’s already heaving the plant in question out of the firing line, dragging the pot across the carpet. 

“No fire!” Sarah snaps. “We agreed - no fire indoors!”

“I shouldn’t have pushed him for the bass,” John B frets. “The occasion overwhelmed him.”

JJ has on a serious look which Kiara rarely sees, his brows furrowed in concentration as he considers the flames. Finally they begin receding, the heat in the room diminishing until only smoke remains.

“You owe me a new couch,” Sarah tells the room. “Both of you.”

John B gapes. “I didn’t set it on fire-”

“You caused it with your terrible singing.”

JJ’s scowling at the singed couch. Now the smoke has cleared, it’s not too badly damaged. A neat circle in the middle through the fabric, revealing the springs. But JJ - he looks marginally wrecked, looking at the damage. Sometimes, once his fire takes hold, it can’t be taken back.

Kiara presses her palm to his elbow. He flinches minutely at the contact. Glances away from his ruins to her.

“It’s okay,” she tells him.

“I told him I’m no fucking bassist,” he complains balefully. His eyes are dark. Sometimes Kiara thinks she can see the outlines of flames or smoke in his irises, but then he blinks and they’re clear once again.

She’s about to say more, but then there’s a plaintive, “Kie? Kie!” from the other room. Kiara looks towards the door, then back to JJ.

“Go,” he tells her. “She’s probably broken a nail or something.”

Kiara grasps JJ’s arm lightly before releasing him and obediently retreating to the spare room. There’s a lopsided black marker sign on the door pronouncing it as the _batcave_. 

On screen, Pope’s gaze is focussed on the woman lying on the ground in front of him who seems to be unconscious. 

“Ooo,” Kiara says with intrigue. “Pope’s got an actual rescue?”

Sarah flicks the switch so Pope’s voice comes out of the speakers instead of the headset.

“-you fucking see that? I was like BAM! Not today, ma’am! No - you shall not terrorise us any more, you good for nothing old lady. Fuck - what a rush.” Pope’s words are blurred by his heavy breathing. “I can see why JJ does this shit. Damn. I’m living!”

Kiara exchanges a horrified look with Sarah.

“Okay, Po-Priest,” Sarah catches herself on the nickname at the last minute. Pope is very fond of airwave anonymity, in case anyone tunes in. “Let’s just-- take a step away from the old woman, okay?”

Pope huffs. “I _told_ you, call me Apollo. God of healing. It’s very apt.” But he does what she says.

“Okay, good,” Sarah says. “Now-- what did that poor defenceless little old lady do to you?”

“What did she do?” Pope repeats in disbelief. “Well - how about the laser eyes and the mass destruction and general terror?”

“Is she dead?” Sarah asks in muted horror.

“Dead?” Pope splutters. “No!” Then, after a pause: “...you did see, didn’t you?”

“I mean - she looks like a sweet little old lady out for an evening stroll. Is that her walking frame?” Kiara squints at the corner of the screen. The camera angle changes, swinging towards the walking frame, then back to the woman on the floor. “This doesn’t seem like something Apollo would do, now, does it? Attack a poor old woman?”

“Apo-- poor old-- _what_! You saw her laser eyes! You saw me heroically defeating her and thus saving further damage and destruction and imminent death? Must I repeat myself? Laser. Eyes.” 

Kiara mouths _good luck_ to Sarah before she backs away. Sarah frantically beckons her to come back, arms windmilling. Eventually she mouths _fuck you_ and sticks her middle finger up with rigor. 

“Pope’s knocked out an old woman,” Kiara announces as she rejoins the boys in the kitchen. 

JJ looks delighted. “Properly unconscious?”

“She had laser eyes, or something.” Kiara steals a segment of tangerine from the one JJ’s peeling. He scowls, but then after a short pause, hands her another segment. 

“It’s sour,” he warns. 

JJ can’t always be trusted, so Kiara doesn’t hesitate in biting into the segment. Her nose wrinkles at the juice, and JJ snorts inelegantly as her expression.

“Wanna go to that rooftop place again tonight?” he asks. “I’ve got second rate tequila, which is a vast improvement on that stuff I had last week. Probably use these oranges instead of lime.”

“No can do.” Out of spite, Kiara steals the remainder of JJ’s tangerine from the counter. The pith has been painstakingly peeled off in preparation - JJ stares in incredulity as she shoves four segments into her mouth to prevent a retaliation steal. “I’ve got a date.” Juice trickles down her chin.

JJ’s observes the tangerine eating with what looks like an expression of slight envy. “A date.” 

“Y’know, one of those things single people go on. May or may not result in sexual intercourse.”

“Use protection,” John B advises. “We do not need some tiny plant baby around here.” There’s a considering pause. “Do you reckon your kids could germinate like plants do?”

“Like - can you take one of my fingers like a cutting, and grow a baby? I’m gonna hedge my bets with no.” John B looks disappointed. Kiara steals the tangerine JJ’s retrieved from the fruit bowl right out of his hands and spins on her heel. “Later, losers! Have a nice, boring evening without me!”

It feels like someone or something watches her as she swans out of the room, but then it always feels like that recently. Probably some hangover from Sarah’s mind invasions or something.

*

“You look… nice,” Sarah says as Kiara leaves her room. The apartment is surprisingly empty - just Sarah, in the kitchen with a spatula, flipping something in a pan. “Your hair is extra shiny.”

“John B needs to adjust the water temperature, it’s baltic in there,” Kiara complains. “Cosmo always told me cold water locks in shine but I never had the balls to try it. And if I had balls before that shower - they would be no more.”

“I see.” Sarah flips the presumably edible food item and frowns as the dark black underside is revealed. “Has JJ been fucking with the cooker again?”

“You’re just a shit cook, babe,” Kiara passes by her friend and reaches up to where they keep their spirits. “What is it supposed to be, anyway? Is it meant to be crispy?”

Sarah frowns. “I was aiming for a pancake.”

“I don’t think pancakes are meant to be crispy.”

“Maybe I like crispy pancakes,” Sarah snips, but she prods at the pan with the spatula cautiously. “You know, I think it needs a few more minutes.”

Kiara merely _hm_ s in response, still craning for the closest bottle on the shelf. A helpful snake plant nudges the tequila bottle closer to her outstretched hand, and she touches a finger tip to the edge of the leaves in thanks. 

When she steps back, bottle in hand, Sarah is giving her an appraising look. 

Kiara suddenly feels a little defensive. “What?”

“Nothing,” Sarah says, though it’s clearly not. She watches as Kiara places the bottle on the counter and starts searching for salt and lemon. Uses one of Sarah’s fancy Japanese knives to cut two wedges of lemon. Sarah pulls two shot glasses out of the cupboard; pours two generous shots. “Just… you’re back on this one, huh?”

Kiara clinks her glass against Sarah’s and slams back the liquid. Sucks on the lemon. “Dating is a perfectly normal activity.”

Sarah pours another shot in Kiara’s glass. Cuts another slice of lemon. Gives her a look so searching or knowing that Kiara checks there's no other presence in her mind.

“I’m spotting for JJ tonight,” Sarah frowns into the pan. “Which is always a two-man job.”

“Date,” Kiara reminds her. She grimaces around a third tequila. “But you have fun with that.”

“Probably have more fun spotting,” Sarah ploughs on. “We can eat pancakes and talk about deforestation and how unfair it is that JJ got fire.”

“I don’t want to go near your pancakes, thanks.” Kiara ignores the obvious hook and enticement of a free rant about deforestation. Usually she has to bribe everyone with special craft beers and weed before they’ll submit to her impassioned speeches. “I’m looking to expand my horizons. Outside of these four walls and one shared superhero suit.”

Sarah looks up from the pan, her mouth all scrunched like she does when she’s attempting a poker face. “Oh, right.” She taps her spatula on the side of the pan, either wilfully ignoring or oblivious to the black smoke emitting from the so called pancake. “Well, have fun, I guess.”

“Oh,” Kiara twirls with relish, grabbing her jacket from the back of one of the high back stools littered around the counter. “I will. You have fun with JJ.”

“Always do.”

Kiara gives a bright wave (one that’s at odds with her off-kilter thoughts) and resists the urge to slam the door behind her. 

It’s an exchange that follows her all the way to her date. 

“Journalism is so cool,” Tommy enthuses avidly. They’re sitting in what’s claimed to be the most authentic Thai restaurant downtown. Tommy apparently chose it because Kiara listed Thai as her favoured cuisine on her profile. He’s already bashfully pointed out that the vegetarian options come highly recommended, and then when he ordered his coffee politely asked the waiter if he could get it with soy milk. “Not much of an animal produce fan,” he admitted shyly when Kiara raised an eyebrow. “I try to play my small part in preserving the Earth, you know?”

If this were a mission, Sarah would have screamed in her ear, _marry him!_

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” Kiara admits with a small laugh. “I mean, it’s nothing big at the moment. I’m just writing small articles here and there, politics and news and the works.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short,” Tommy says. He coughs a little, ears going pink. “I hope this doesn’t come across as creepy, but I may have read some of your work before the date. You’re good. Really funny.”

Kiara pauses, feeling a little touched. “Really?”

“I really liked that piece you did about law enforcement in the Outer Banks -- about the Pogue? I thought you raised some good points.”

Kiara ducks her head behind her wine glass, flattered. Truth be told, that piece had mostly been out of a need to save the asses of herself and her friends. She’d known, realistically, back when they were first starting out with the Pogue, taking Pope’s suit out for cautionary spins once a week and only late at night so no one could see, that they’d face some pushback, mostly from people who didn’t trust law enforcement to fall into the hands of a faceless vigilante. They’re all meant to keep a low profile to avoid raising suspicion, but it’s not like she could help it, not when she has a -- albeit, very small -- platform.

“That’s it,” Pope had said theatrically when he read the article. “We’re toast. You’ve busted us all.”

“At least it was very well-written,” John B had said. “I liked the part you called us _conscientious_.”

Still, it had done pretty well, and even the editor had emailed her with a well done -- and no one had been none the wiser. Pope had made sure of that, spending the next week scouring the Pogue conspiracy blogs on one of his burner accounts and debunking anything that came anywhere close to the truth. (Not that anyone did. Surprisingly, an unknown writer of an article in a paper hardly anyone reads raised absolutely zero suspicions.)

JJ, meanwhile, had cut it out and hung it on the minifridge they keep in Sarah’s spare bedroom, the main base of their operation. “Baby’s first official piece,” he’d declared, half to be an asshole, to which Kiara had given him a jab in the side with her elbow -- and then again, when she saw that the letter magnets holding it up spelled out K’S BIG BRAK (they ran out of Es). But it still hangs there now, and even though Pope seems to take it as a personal insult to all their hard work, sniffing contemptuously whenever he catches sight of it, it always makes her smile to know that despite everything, they all have her back in endeavours outside of the Pogue.

Fuck. Why is she thinking of the Pogue right now?

She shakes her head to dislodge it from her brain. “Well, thank you,” she says. “I guess you could say I’m pretty passionate about superheroes.”

“Me too.” Tommy lets out an almost embarrassed laugh. “I used to be obsessed with Indra, the vigilante before the Pogue. I would always read articles about her contributions towards law enforcement in Outer Banks and how integral she was in the development of the police force. It’s a shame she went into retirement, but the Pogue has definitely stepped up.” He stops, cheeks colouring. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I promise usually I’m less creepy than this.”

“Oh, no!” Kiara is quick to reassure him. “No, no, you’re fine! I find it really interesting too. And it’s not creepy at all, don’t worry. It’s actually-- it’s actually really sweet, that you would do that.”

Tommy smiles at her across the table. “That’s good. The last thing I’d want to do is scare you off.”

The evening has sunken the room into dark shadows, stained dark reds and greens from the tapestries on the walls. In the light from the flickering bulbs on the ceiling, Tommy’s face is bathed in soft yellow, accentuating the handsome lines of his cheekbones and throat. 

He’s handsome. He doesn’t eat animal products, he chose the restaurant because he saw that she likes Thai food, and he thinks that her writing is good.

So why doesn’t she fucking _feel_ anything?

To be fair, they’ve only been seated for maybe around twenty minutes, getting to know each other beyond their dating profiles: work, hobbies, general small talk. That’s hardly enough time to properly gage interest, but so far all she feels is just like she’s in pleasant company, not like she’s on a first date. Still, she can already feel Sarah telling her that she just needs to give him time -- clearly Kiara is too used to this whole Pogue gig, if she’s imagining their voices even when she’s not wearing her comms earpiece -- so she just smiles back at him and takes another sip of her wine. 

On paper he’s pretty much perfect. She’s definitely being too critical. (Jesus, when was the last time she went on a first date?)

“So,” she says, once she’s put her wine glass down. “On your profile it says that you teach? What subject?”

Tommy launches into telling her about how he teaches Art, how this year he is challenging his students to create pieces out of items like bottle caps and milk cartons that would otherwise end up in landfills. Kiara listens intently for the first few minutes, but she can’t help the way her mind drifts a little; she’s spent a lot of late nights sat in front of the computer monitor watching Pope stomp around neighbourhoods bitching about foxes, or John B forgetting he is in Pogue get-up and waving at one of his coworkers until she hisses at him to cut it out, and her attention span has become a little fucked because of it. She wonders how Sarah’s faring back at the apartment by herself, watching JJ, probably halfway through Kiara’s secret Goldfish stash. She makes a mental note to send her a passive-aggressive text about what dangers will befall her should she finish the box.

Kiara only becomes aware that Tommy’s stopped talking when the whole restaurant falls silent. She comes out of her reverie with a jerk, momentarily panicked that the entire room is waiting for her to respond, until she hears the shatter of china two tables over and the sounds of cutlery being dropped onto plates in shock across the room.

“Holy shit,” someone hisses, “is that…?”

“Evening, folks,” says a very, very familiar voice, and she can barely refrain from rolling her eyes when in between the tables appears the Pogue himself. The voice-masking technology hides any telltale drawls that might give the listener an inkling as to who is speaking behind it, but Kiara doesn’t need it to know exactly who this is.

JJ fucking Maybank.

She narrows her eyes at him as he comes down the aisle of tables, waving awkwardly at everyone, who have all fallen silent in favour of just staring at him wordlessly with awe-stricken expressions. He catches sight of her and even behind the mask she can tell that his face has just split in a smile, because then he does a dorky finger-gun and the candle on the table in front of her, unlit, suddenly burns bright with a flame.

Show-off.

He slides to a stop in front of her. Tommy stares up at him. Kiara raises an eyebrow, expectantly.

“Er,” JJ says, seemingly for the first time realising what this looks like. “Hello. Random citizen.”

Tommy lets out a squeak. Kiara says, “Hello.”

“There has been… a break-in,” JJ says, “in your neighbourhood.”

“Sounds like something you should deal with then, Mighty Pogue.”

“Er. I have.” Then he puts his hands on his hips like he’s fucking Superman, or something. “Because I am the Pogue, saviour to the ordinary citizen.” This is said to the room, and Kiara resists the urge to roll her eyes. “However, uh, it needs your attention. Because it is your apartment.”

She can’t help it. “How do you know where I live? Isn’t that a little weird?”

JJ scowls at her. “I’m omniscient. Just-- come with me.”

She finally decides to take sympathy on him, folding her napkin -- and then casts a glance at Tommy, who looks like he’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Do you mind?” she says. “I’m really sorry.”

Tommy nods, a little dazedly. “No, it’s-- it’s fine. Don’t worry.”

Kiara stands, opening her wallet to throw a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “That should be enough to cover my portion, I think.”

He manages to come out of his stupor long enough to say, “I’ll text you?”

She looks at him, and his handsome, kind, environmentally friendly face, and feels a little bad when she says, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Ki-- random citizen?” JJ prompts.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” She grabs her purse and her jacket, and then starts power-walking towards the door, keeping her head down to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. “Let’s go.”

JJ has to scurry a little to keep up with her as she quickly heads out of the restaurant into the street. He’s clearly come for an important reason -- did a mission go wrong? Does he need her help? Is there finally a situation he can’t get out of by blasting everything in his immediate vicinity with fire and hoping for the best? -- and so she needs to try and find a secluded area he can switch back to civilian clothing to tell her what’s up before the papers start going on about how the Pogue has found a love interest. (Because yes, that has happened before. With Kiara and Pope, in the grocery aisle, when Pope came to find her in full Pogue get-up to see if she knew what he could use to lure a squirrel out of a drainage pipe. No one had been thrilled about that, least of all Pope, which was only mildly insulting.) 

She manages to find a nearby alley that no one notices them skulk into, and JJ, because he’s an asshole, makes her turn around as he murmurs _mutatio_ and the suit transforms back into civilian clothing.

“Mustache-io,” he says to himself with a snigger, like he always does, which she takes as her cue to turn back around.

“You realise you’re not actually getting dressed, right,” she says. “I don’t know why you make me do it.”

“Because you do so every time I ask and it’s funny.”

So she’s a good friend and respectful of boundaries. Sue her. “What’s wrong? Why did you pull me out of there?”

JJ grins. “I wanted to show you something.”

“What?”

“It’s this really cool graffiti near the apartment, it’s of the Pogue except we have laser eyes--”

“JJ,” she interrupts. “You pulled me out of a date so I can see graffiti?”

JJ blinks at her. “That was… a date?”

She stares at him. “What else could it have been?”

“I thought he was a coworker!”

“We were eating dinner! By _candle-light_!”

“Technically, you weren’t. I lit the candle when I came in.”

“I was _drinking wine_ ! I’m wearing _makeup_!”

For the first time, JJ seems to realise. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. Oh fuck. Thanks a lot.”

Kiara turns away from him, sighing frustratedly and raking a hand through her long curls. Clearly _a night off_ was too much of a tall order. Now she no longer feels the urge to impress, she presses her hand against the wall to steady herself as she pulls off one of her heels, balancing on one foot to pull the emergency flats from her purse and wriggling her bare foot into one. JJ next to her stands and observes, looking a little awkward.

“Sorry,” he says, finally, as she’s just managed to wrestle on the second flat. “I didn’t realise it was a date.”

“It’s fine.”

“Was it going well, at least?”

She opens her mouth to say _yeah it was_ , because they had everything in common, down to their stance on the plastic crisis and the fact they both like to dip apple slices in peanut butter -- but then she really thinks about it. “No,” she says, after a pause. “Not really.”

JJ begins to look a little smug. “So does that mean--”

“No, you did not do me a favour.”

“I kind of did.”

She points a finger at him. “This is not me positively reinforcing you. This is the opposite. Do not be encouraged by this. If you do this again you will suffocate to death in your sleep via aloe plant.”

“I like how very lame your insults sound when you root them in your powers.”

“I have the ability to _root_ a cactus in your toilet, then, how’s that?”

JJ actually goes a little pale at that. “Still stupid,” he says, but with absolutely zero conviction. “Besides, I kind of _did_ do you a favour. Would you rather be back there with him or hanging out with me?”

“Not if you’re just gonna show me lame graffiti.”

“Laser eyes, Kie. _Laser eyes_.”

Once they find the supposedly correct dark alley (after two incorrect ones, and JJ’s protests that all dumpsters look the same, okay?) Kiara stands shoulder to shoulder with JJ, staring up at the graffiti. 

To call it graffiti is to sell it short. It's more of a mural - an entire two story ode to the Pogue. The green is vibrant and they're surrounded by fire, water and plants. 

"Well, shit," Kiara summarises shortly. 

JJ knocks his elbow into hers. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Kiara tilts her head in consideration. "I wonder who's in the suit in their reference picture."

"Definitely not you," JJ dismisses quickly. "Doesn't have your figure. Or boobs."

Kiara chooses to ignore that comment. “Makes it almost seem worth it though, right?”

She can feel JJ turning curious eyes on the side of her face. “How much did you say you’d had to drink again?”

“Just - that people think we’re doing good, or something. Like fuck, sometimes I wonder what the fuck we're doing - but this. This makes it worth it.”

There’s a soft glow of yellow from her left and Kiara doesn’t need to look to know it’s JJ. It’s a well known fact amongst the Pogues that JJ is somewhat of a wildcard with powers even he doesn’t know the limits of or the boundaries to. But sometimes, when he’s contented or caught off guard, he glows like a distant star or some shit. 

“All that from some vagabond with a spray can,” JJ comments eventually, voice dry. 

"More than one," Kiara assesses. "There's at least four different shades of green."

“At the very least,” JJ agrees amenably. “See - I told you it was pretty sick.”

*

Kiara has a few talents outside of the whole plant thing. Most of them are learnt, like lock picking. JJ showed her this a year or two ago. He taught himself from YouTube videos and ADHD hyper fixation, and then insisted on teaching anyone who would stand still long enough to listen. (That list extended to John B and Kiara. Kiara thinks John B has since forgotten, as he often does.) 

Lock picking comes in useful perhaps more often than people would think. But the most common use of it is breaking into JJ Maybank’s apartment to take care of his plants. 

She’s not sure if JJ knows she drops by. He may have some security measures which don’t flag when a Pogue enters. More likely he has nothing but blind faith in his pyrotechnic abilities and supposedly enhanced hearing. It's not like he has anything of noteworthy value in the apartment, unless any thief had a penchant for discarded tank tops and cargo shorts, or stubbed out hand rolled cigarettes in beer bottles.

There are more plants than perhaps expected tucked into nooks of the single bed apartment. It’s clearly a bachelor pad - there are clothes strewn across the bedroom floor which Kiara has to step over to get to the bathroom and the snake plant she knows he’ll have been neglecting. Even the succulents on the windowsill look wilted. One touch from her fingertip and they’re bursting back into life, leaves dark with chlorophyll. 

Kiara’s bustling around the small apartment and trying to ignore the dishes in the sink and the take out containers on the side and the empty bottles by the couch when the door slams open. 

Kiara swallows a shriek and her instinct to hide. Quickly assesses her defensive options. But the person slamming the door open is a familiar sight; damp blonde hair, clothes sticking to his skin. Kiara blinks at the sight of John B’s form slung over JJ’s shoulder in a fireman’s lift, JJ’s arms securely latched around his knees.

JJ says, “Kie?!” at the same time Kiara says, “what the fuck?”

John B’s arms dangle down JJ’s back. His eyes are shut, and his hair looks dark and matted near the centre of his skull. 

“What the fuck?” Kiara repeats, as JJ dumps John B on the couch. Kiara crosses the room and pulls back one of John B’s eyelids. She only sees white and no pupil. “Have you called Pope?” she demands.

“Yeah,” JJ slouches onto the couch and pulls his friend’s feet onto his lap. “He’s on his way. Honestly - he’s such a fucking idiot.”

“What happened?”

“So there I was, having the time of my life spotting him. It was a quiet night, so John B decides to make an entrance to a gathered crowd-”

“Oh shit,” Kiara breaths as she realises where this may be going. She’s settled on her haunches next to John B’s head, brushing strands of hair out of his eyes. 

“Oh yeah,” JJ continues. “So he decides to make one of his grand entrances. Starts building up momentum, waves hi to a pike, breaches the surface of the Hudson and-”

“Oh, fuck-”

“Twats his head on a bridge. Knocks himself clean out.” JJ knocks his knuckles against John B’s ankle. “The worst thing is - this is the third time. Last time he made us promise not to take him back to Sarah’s because she tends to freak the fuck out, and here we are.” JJ passes a hand over John B’s calf. Then his eyes narrow and he looks up. “But why are you here?”

“You neglect your plants.”

“My plants are just fine-”

“Because I come around every week! That orchid-” Kiara jabs a finger in the direction of the kitchen where an orchid innocently sits in it’s pot in less than optimal conditions. “It would be dust without me. _Dust_ , JJ.”

Steam curls from JJ’s shoulders and his hair drives in waves. There’s tension in his shoulders as he considers his best friend, his hand curled on John B’s calf. 

“I just couldn’t let them be his last words-”

“What were they?”

JJ pauses. Straightens up the bottom of the jeans that form the civilian clothes element of the Pogue’s suit. “Let them know the seamen live on.”

“What?”

JJ fixes her with a look. “You heard.”

“Was that before or after the bridge?”

“Immediately before. Upon exiting the water. Before contact.”

“I’ve told him about the whole seaman thing,” Kiara complains balefully. 

“They couldn’t be his last words! And,” JJ's voice lowers. "I was having a leak at the time - honestly, trying to go on recon when you're mid-piss is a task and a half."

"Well, be sure to tell him he ruined your piss," Kiara mutters drily. There's the sound of the handle being tried, and then a rapid knock on the door. Kiara brushes one last strand of John B's hair back into place, then hurries to open the door.

"-Sarah better be serious about this whole non mind reading thing because otherwise we're all dead," Pope frets as he stomps across the threshold. Then, as a slightly surprised aside, "oh, hey Kie. What're you doing here?"

Pope's already cradling John B's chin in his hands, assessing the wound. 

"The plants," Kiara explains briefly. "JJ neglects them." She sinks to the floor next to the boys, back to the couch. 

JJ scowls. "I refute that accusation. They look just fine to me."

"That's literally because I come around-"

"The plants," Pope cuts in with a knowing look. "Sure."

Beneath Pope’s care, John B is looking decidedly more alive. The colour returns to his cheeks and the blood fades from his matted hair. His breathing deepens from shallow to almost normal sounding and eventually, his eyes slide open.

“Yo!” JJ greets. It’s cheery and near happy; relieved, maybe. “Welcome back to the land of the living. I hate to tell you this, but you’ve been in a coma for six years-”

John B’s voice is weak. “Bullshit.”

“Well, okay, six months-”

John B raises a hand to touch the top of his head. “Pope wouldn’t leave me that long," he mutters confidently. “Six days maybe, to teach me a lesson.” His hand drops to his side and John B sighs wearily. “Fucking bridges, man.”

“You need to sort your life out,” JJ informs him politely.

“Just poke your head above the water and take a look for any hard objects,” Pope suggests. 

“Poke my head out?” John B scoffs derisively. “What is this - Alice and the fucking Looking Glass? It’s about the entrance. I’m not poking my head out because then the element of surprise is gone. Disappeared. Vanished.”

“Don’t you have sonar?” Kiara pokes a fingertip into a hole in the bottom of JJ’s socks from where he’s hooked his knees over her shoulder. He withdraws his foot with a wounded look, knocking his ankle bone into her elbow.

“Underwater sonar, Kie. _Underwater_ . The hint is literally in the name. And bridges - correct me Pope, if I’m wrong - are traditionally a structure which goes _over_ water.” John B waves his hand vaguely. “Do you see the distinction? Underwater sonar. Over water bridge.”

“Bridge over troubled water,” JJ confirms. He attempts to nudge her open palm with his toe. Kiara grabs at them all instead, crushing them in a clenched fist. “Even I know that. C’mon, Kiwi. Are you even trying?”

“I am very sorry,” Kiara apologises gravely. “How dare I suggest you use some element of your powers to avoid knocking yourself out for the fourth time.”

“I’ve gotta go - I’m supposed to be spotting Sarah.” Pope glances at his Apple watch and frowns. “She’s going to be suspicious that I’ve been in the bathroom for longer than five minutes.”

There’s a short silence. Then JJ says, “there is literally nothing suspicious about that-”

“-the only suspicious thing would be if you were less than twenty minutes,” John B confirms.

At Pope’s wounded look, JJ attempts appeasement. “You were once an hour, Pope.”

Pope sniffs primly. “You’re not supposed to strain yourself or you’ll give yourself hemorrhoids.”

“You can literally heal yourself-”

“Someone needs to stay with him,” Pope half-shouts over John B. “I think I got everything, but one day I probably won’t.”

“There’s weed at Sarah’s,” JJ points out. 

“That,” Pope points a finger at JJ. “Is a bad idea.”

“There’s literally nowhere safer.” John B, at the idea of sampling the Devil’s lettuce, has brightened considerably. “Besides, it’s for medicinal purposes. Pain relief.”

“Are you still in pain?” Pope’s brow furrows in concern.

“Emotionally and egotistically, yes.”

“Whatever happens, you are not sparking up today. Not on my watch. I would rather shit in my own hands and clap before you did that.”

“Way to be dramatic, Popey.” JJ swings his legs from Kiara’s shoulder. “Besides, if we were waiting around for you to shit in your hands, we’ve got a good hour long window.”

Pope considers them all as they start pulling themselves to their feet and limbering up for the journey back to Sarah’s fancy ass apartment.

“Y’all have death wishes,” Pope decides. Then, obviously realising he’s fighting a losing battle, says, “bagsy swinging back with Kie.”

High John B blow bubbles and high JJ lights tiny flames with one finger to keep them afloat. Kiara lies on the couch watching proceedings. Pope’s disapproval is almost palpable, radiating through the walls from the spare room.

It's a delicate balance between getting the flame too far away and the bubble floating towards the ground and it's untimely demise. Too close - and it pops from the heat.

"Oh, oh, oh," John B mumbles as the bubble floats sideways instead of upwards. 

"Fuck," JJ hisses as the bubble sidles towards the wall. 

"Easy, easy," John B coaches. "Lower - left. No. Right. Okay - the other way. No, no, the other other way."

The collected group watch closely as JJ eases his hand to the left. Then, too close, and without ceremony, the bubble pops. 

"Oh fuck." In misery, John B throws a Cheeto into the air. It bounces off his eyebrow and lands on the rug. He gazes at it morosely. "I really thought that was it."

Kiara waves the blunt at JJ. "Light," she commands. Absentmindedly JJ trails a finger her way. Kiara jerks her head back as the flame jumps up and threatens to singe her bangs. 

"Dude," she complains reflexively. "Watch the face." 

"Face or hair?" John B muses. "What would you rather keep?"

Kiara and JJ blink.

"Face, obviously."

"Yeah, obviously," JJ agrees. There's a pause. "Are you serious, JB? Hair? Hair?"

"How would we know it's you with no face?" Kiara scrunches her face up. 

"You know who's in the suit and you can't see their face and their voice goes weird." John B points one Cheeto stained hand to emphasise his point. 

"That's because of the schedule-"

JJ nods in agreement. "Pope puts it on the fridge. And the minifridge. And in my Google calendar, somehow. And on the back of the bathroom door - view as you poo. Which is. Inspired." JJ loses interest with the conversation and demands, "John B. Bubble."

"You'd be able to tell me from my hair, anyway," John B rationalises. He waves a hand towards the ceiling. Four bubbles are manifested into being.

"Aw fuck," JJ complains. "Now I've gotta choose a favourite."

Kiara squints at the spheres as they float.

"Biggest," she determines. "Always best "

"The small one looks thick. Sturdy." John B tilts his head.

"You could," Kiara proposes as she exhales slowly. "Balance a ball in each hand. A handful of balls."

John B looks at Kiara severely. "Bubbles."

"Water balls."

"There is literally a specific name for them-"

“Who are you to police words, John B? There is freedom of speech in this fucked up country of ours-”

“No politics!” JJ demands. The flame jumps higher from his outstretched hand. Three bubbles pop, at which John B gasps in outrage. “That was your fault,” JJ accuses Kiara. 

“Shut up, fire hands-”

“Anyone for a drink?” John B asks the room. “I will get drinks. And snacks. JJ, come help me find where Sarah hides the good stuff.”

Kiara, who is well aware of where the good stuff is, squints innocently at the ceiling. The good stuff may recently have been reduced to some empty bottles courtesy of her and JJ’s recent rooftop and drinking visits. (If you have the ability to swing around the city via vines - you can get into some pretty cool places. And JJ’s the only one who doesn’t mind the occasional face plant into the side of buildings on these endeavours. The only downside is that he does insist on humming the song from the Jungle Book right into her here from where he clings).

After ten minutes of no drink emerging, Kiara sets out to investigate. 

John B holds a bottle of wine aloft, his hands clutching desperately at the base of the bottle, his arms outstretched and eyes closed. “Just do it quickly,” he urges JJ.

JJ has a large knife in one hand, and appears to be lining it up with the neck of the bottle. “They do it all the time at the F1,” JJ reassures him. 

“Don’t they use swords, or pop the cork on champagne?” Kiara points out. At her voice, both boys whip around.

“It’s the only way,” JJ tells her morosely. 

“There’s always a corkscrew.”

“A corkscrew? Do we look like the type of people who usually drink wine with a cork?” John B accuses. He picks up the novelty corkscrew (shaped like a penis, with surprising realism) from the side and jangles it in Kiara’s direction. “Honestly, this thing is like a torture device.”

“Yeah,” JJ interjects. “Who do you think we are - bougie Batman? Pope’s always around in case things go wrong. Now - JB - stand still.”

They assume their stances once more. JJ feints two swings with the butcher’s knife, and then commits with the third. There’s a faint _woosh_ as steel cuts through the air. With a crack, the knife connects with the neck of the bottle, which promptly shatters all over the ground in a mess of fragmented glass and red liquid. 

In a small voice, JJ says, “oops.”

John B pulls the wine from the ground and directs it towards a jug, with only a little splashing over the sides. Once it’s passed through a sieve and John B swears that there’s no glass left, it’s not too bad. 

“It might even cut our throats and then alcohol gets into your bloodstream quicker.” JJ raises his mug (the boys are never trusted with wine glasses) to clink with Kiara’s long stemmed glass. “Boom. Science.”

“Uh-huh.” Kiara holds out a freshly rolled joint for a light. JJ touches a finger to the end, then places his hand back on her calf. He gets touchy when he’s high. Pulls feet onto his lap; taps out rhythms on her knee, her ankle. There’s a spark of heat every so often. Maybe enough to lightly singe any residual leg hair, but not enough to do any real damage.

The ceiling mellows as she lies with a glass of red wine in one hand and a joint in the other. JJ takes it from her so often, hand warm against hers. He plays songs over his tinny phone speaker, saying, “oh you’ll like this one,” before he presses play on each and every one. He can never let them play all the way through; chops and changes, playing snatches of every one. He’s always right - he knows her music taste somehow better than she even knows it.

“This is the life,” Kiara sighs.

JJ’s tapped rhythm on her ankle stutters. Starts again. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Pretty sweet being a Pogue, right?”

*

“...And I get that, sir, but--”

Kiara stops talking abruptly. When JJ’s slow swivel-chair spin cycle turns in her direction, he sees her raking a hand frustratedly through her hair, lips pursed in obvious discontent, and he pauses, pulling the pen he was mindlessly chewing on out of his mouth. He hasn’t seen her look this stressed since she had bragged about how great she was at chess and then Pope had her checkmated in less than five minutes. 

“Yes, sir,” she says. “I understand that, I do. I just--” Another long pause. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

JJ tries to meet her eyes but she pointedly turns away from him, plugging the ear her phone isn’t pressed against like that’ll make her forget he’s here. He frowns. 

“Of course,” she says, finally. “I’ll get it to you by this evening.”

“Trouble in paradise?” JJ says mildly when she pulls the phone away. By the way she drops face-first onto the couch and then screams into the pillow, he thinks he’s able to make a pretty educated guess. “Taking that as a yes.”

“Have you ever come close to murder?” she says, voice muffled. “Like, close enough that you feel you have the capacity for it.”

JJ chews on his pen thoughtfully. “I mean, we _do_ run a secret superhero gig on the side, so…”

“Not to do with the Pogue. Just as JJ.”

He decides not to answer this. “Why, do you feel like you have the capacity for murder right now?”

“It’s just,” and at this she sits up, hair rumpled. She’s just come home so she’s still in her work clothes, the collar of her button-up flipped up on one side. “My boss is making me write this stupid piece. And he wants it tonight. But it’s-- it’s just nonsensical. It’s just-- politically charged propaganda--”

“The Pogue?” JJ guesses.

Kiara throws up her hands. “Yes! And I get it -- not everyone agrees with the idea of the Pogue. That’s fine, that’s whatever. Free speech. And we have people writing for this paper across the political spectrum so of course it’s going to publish some articles I don’t agree with but that doesn’t mean I have to fucking-- _write_ them! Argh!”

She punctuates this by throwing her phone down onto the couch next to her, running her hands through her hair. In his peripheral, JJ notices the row of plants along the windowsill begin to slowly snake towards her. He glances at her, a little concerned, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she continues to talk.

“Thing is, he _knows_ I’m pro-superhero -- he read my article about it, he knows how I feel, and it’s not like he doesn’t have his choice of other journalists who are anti-Pogue to choose from but it’s like-- it’s like he does it to purposely spite me, or something.”

“Uh,” JJ says, “Kiara--”

“And-- and I get it, okay, I know that I’m just getting tired and grouchy from all the late nights spotting or going on Pogue runs but this isn't just that, this isn’t just me being-- overemotional, or whatever. I told him that I have a second job in the evenings and he can tell that I’m being overworked and can’t take on any more extra assignments but here he is, without fail, making me write this-- this fucking piece he knows I don’t believe in when he so many other people who could have done out, who wanted to do it, and he’s making me do it on such fucking short notice, like sometimes it’s just enough to make me want to _scream--_ ”

As she speaks, every single plant in the room begins to slowly inch towards her, not just those closest. JJ can only sit and watch in horror as even John B’s pathetic cactus on top of the cupboard turns towards her, green leaves sprouting from it, folding and weaving their way down the cupboard to where she’s sat on the sofa. JJ glances at Kiara, beginning to get a little nervous now, but she’s entirely oblivious, continuing to go on and on about her boss -- as though she doesn’t even notice.

Because she doesn’t, JJ realises. It’s involuntary. “Kiara--”

“--and it’s just like… when stuff like this happens sometimes I just get so fucking-- confused, because what do I even want, you know? Like-- sometimes, JJ, I’m not even fucking sure I even want to keep doing the Pogue because the stress of it gets to be so much but then shit like this happens at my real job and it’s just like--”

He feels something wind past his leg, and he glances down to see a vine sneaking under his spinny chair towards the couch where she’s sat. He tries to step on it, but from under his shoe, two new leaves slide out and start weaving their way towards her, like fucking Medusa or something. He eventually reaches down to break the stem so it can stop growing, but in his distraction he doesn’t even realise Kiara’s stopped talking until he’s sure the vine is well and truly dead, and he looks up.

And sees a stem winding its way around her neck.

He’s out of his chair in an instant. Distantly, he’s aware of a crash, like in his haste to get over to her he had knocked it on its side, but it registers like he’s hearing it from underwater, or the next room over. He’s tunnel-visioned, the only thing in his sight Kiara struggling against the stem twining tighter and tighter around her neck. “Fucking - _hell_!” she rasps, tugging at it, but it holds resolute; if anything, it seems to only get even tighter.

It doesn’t help that her panic only appears to make the plants even wilder. John B’s cactus splits its tiny plastic pot and soil spills down the side of the cupboard, and the vine JJ had crushed flat jerks and spasms, as though it’s having a seizure. JJ pulls at the vine, hard, but it doesn’t budge.

“Get the fucking _scissors_ !” Kiara manages. “JJ, come _on--_!”

The scissors, thank Christ, are lying on the table, from earlier in the day when Sarah tried to get him and Pope to make vision boards. JJ seizes them, but just as he’s about to put them to the vine, he freezes. It’s so tightly wrapped around her neck there’s no way he’ll be able to sever it without cutting her, too.

“Oh, for fuck’s - _sake_ !” Kiara shouts, voice barely above a whisper, and blindly snatches them from his hand. Without even so much as a moment’s hesitation, she brings them to her neck, wedging the blade in between the vine of her throat, and _twists_. 

There’s a snap, and, all at once, the vine drops.

Kiara collapses against the back of the couch, greedily sucking in air. Her hands come up to massage the skin around her throat, flinching when she hits a tender spot; the plants, as if chastised, retreat further and further back with every wince, like each one is a personal indictment. 

JJ meanwhile can only sit back on his haunches, completely overwhelmed. Without the adrenaline racing through his veins, he suddenly becomes aware of how fast his heart was beating, his pulse still somewhere in his ears. He looks down at his hands: they’re shaking. He clenches them into fists.

Thing is, in this line of work, danger is a daily occurance. He knows that. Every time one of them goes out in the Pogue suit, it is essentially a permission slip to throw themselves in the midst of every bar fight, every back-alley brawl, every fucking _piece_ of danger they come across. Death isn’t a new thing, not when every night they’re out there in the jaws of death itself. 

But this… JJ’s never felt so close to losing her.

And then she pulls her hand away from her throat, and he catches sight of the ring of bruising and the faint trickle of blood from the scissor blade.

“Jesus Christ,” she murmurs, half to herself, experimentally pressing the flat of her palm against the cut, and then pulling it back to look at the blood on her fingers. She turns to the plants, which have all by now reproachfully sulked back to their pots, and points a finger. “Really not cool, guys.Now I think I know why your common name is fucking Devil’s Ivy, you dick.”

“Kiara,” JJ says -- or, at least, he’s aware of himself saying, his voice coming out like it doesn’t belong to him, “you’re bleeding.”

She huffs a little, a little wryly, and wiggles her bloody fingers at him. “Yeah, I know. I mean, it was either this or asphyxiation, right?” When JJ doesn’t respond, she properly looks at him for the first time, and whatever she sees mustn’t be good, because her expression creases in concern. “JJ, are you okay?”

“You’re hurt,” he says, “let me-- I can fix it, let me just--”

“JJ, what--”

He’s reaching towards her before he can even really comprehend what he’s doing, the only thing on his mind is the blood on her neck and how he could have done something -- fuck, he could have singed it, burnt it from the roots, _anything_ \-- instead of just fucking sitting there like a fucking idiot--

His hand comes into contact with the bruising around her neck, and Kiara flinches away from it, so he gentles his touch, just brushes the tip of a finger against it. She lets him, though her eyes are a little cautious.

“I just got stressed,” she says, quietly. “It’s no big deal.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.” She watches him for a long moment; he finds he can’t meet her gaze, instead just hovers his finger over the cut, still tacky with drying blood. “Hey,” she says, and when he glances up, she’s trying for a smile. “You know that Pope’s the healing one, right?”

“I’m just-- checking you’re okay.”

She huffs out a small laugh that sounds like it hurts. “Not every day you get strangled by your own plant.”

“You could have been really hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“What if I wasn’t here? What if-- I mean, I didn’t even fucking do anything--”

“You gave me the scissors--”

“I have fucking powers, Kiara, and I just-- sat there, while you nearly died--”

“JJ,” she says, “breathe.”

But he can’t. “I could’ve-- burnt it, or something, I don’t fucking know, set fire to its roots or something, done anything other than just sit there--”

“JJ--”

“What if something bad happened? What if you-- fuck, Kiara, if you-- if you died I don’t know what I would have done, I just--”

“JJ, ow, _stop--_ ”

JJ doesn’t even realise that he’s hurting her until he smells burning.

All at once, he snatches his hand back from her throat. Feeling his heart sink into his fucking shoes, he stares down at his fingers, glowing red and hot. He looks up, feeling sick to his stomach, already half-anticipating what he’s about to see.

And sure enough: the faint red print of his fingers on her collarbone, the collar of her shirt scorched from where his wrist had brushed against it.

Oh, fuck. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, “oh, fuck, Kiara…”

He takes an uncertain step backwards, and another, and another. Kiara looks at him with wide eyes. “JJ--” she starts.

JJ takes another step back just as the door to the living room flings open, revealing Pope and Sarah, both looking concerned. “Is everything okay?” Sarah says. “We heard shouting.”

Pope, stood in front, glances at JJ, expression already half-forming a question - what’s going on? But whatever he sees in JJ’s face makes him pause, and for the first time he seems to take in the chaos of the living room: the scissors lying on the floor; JJ’s chair, upended; the decapitated plant heads still squirming by his foot. The bruises around Kiara’s neck and the haunted look in JJ’s eyes.

“What’s going on?” Pope says. “Kiara, what happened to your _neck_?”

He moves across the room to her immediately, crouching in front of the couch, and gently resting the back of his hand against her throat. Kiara’s expression tightens at the contact, a microexpression JJ feels like a knife to the side, but she doesn’t say a word as Pope closes his eyes in concentration and focuses on healing her neck. 

“How did you manage to get burnt, cut _and_ bruised?” Pope says. “Did you get ambushed by three different people? Did the first two times the murderer tried to kill you not work?”

Kiara meets JJ’s gaze across the room.

“It was just an accident,” she says. 

“Accident? Is that what he told you? Whoops, look like I tripped and my hot wire ended up tangled around your neck, what a klutz.”

“Pope,” Sarah says, “leave it.”

JJ risks a glance at her; she’s watching him with knowing, careful eyes. Any other day, he’d snip at her for invasion of privacy, remind her of the no-telepathy-on-pogue rule, but something in him is a little grateful that he won’t have to say it out loud. He feels something ugly begin to fester in him under his ribs, like it was him that got burned, all the way down to the bone. 

Pope glances at her, and then turns to look at JJ. JJ grips his elbows tightly, arms pressed against his chest, feeling like he’s trying to keep the burn contained so it can’t spread to anyone else. 

Fuck. What did he just _do_?

Pope must finally understand that there’s something else going on, because he drops the subject, and he then turns back to Kiara, gently pressing a hand against her neck. “The burn isn’t deep,” he says. “First-degree, I think, just the first layer of skin. The bruising goes pretty far down, though. This is gonna hurt.”

Kiara winces a little. “Just do it.”

Pope closes his eyes, a look of concentration crossing his face, and JJ watches as the stiff set of Kiara’s shoulders finally begins to soften a little as the skin around her neck begins to knit itself back together. He feels something brush against his elbow and instinctively he jerks away, but it’s just Sarah, her gaze knowing. He looks away from her, really not in the mood for sympathy right now, but she manages to prise her fingers under one of his biceps so she can link their arms.

“You okay?” she says.

“Fine.”

“Yeah, I don’t need to be a mind reader to know that’s horseshit.”

“Why don’t you read my mind, then, if you apparently know everything?”

“Too much hentai in there,” she says, and it’s enough to startle a huff of laughter out of him. “Kidding, you’re much classier than that. You know I used to sit next to a guy in college with the most extravagant pornography taste. Vintage, you know. It was dreadful. Every lecture it was just boobs and pearl necklaces and allegories for feminism.”

“Seems like a stand-up guy.”

“I ended up dating him. Did not transfer to the bedroom, let me tell you. He was a real freak.” He rolls his eyes, and she smiles at him a little, then gently nudges her elbow into his side. “Hey.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to go picking through your brain because I’m hoping you’ll start learning this really cool thing called open communication.”

“I communicate. I’m communicating right now.”

“Not openly.” She squeezes his arm. “The burn? That… was you?”

He swallows the acid that rises in his throat. “Yeah.”

“You know she doesn’t blame you, right?”

“It’s not about blame. I-- I hurt her. Without even thinking.”

“Not intentionally.”

“Does it even fucking matter?”

“Of course it matters. You didn’t hurt her on purpose.”

“That’s not the point, Sarah, the point--” He breaks off, frustrated. “The point is that I hurt her, so easily, without even having to try, which means-- which means I could do it again, to her-- or any of you, I could hurt any of you without even blinking--”

“All done!” Pope declares from across the room. “You’re all fixed, Carerra. Come again. Leave me a good review on TripAdvisor.”

“Your bedside manner needs improving,” Kiara says.

“Fuck you, my bedside manner is fine.” Pope stands. “You don’t deserve my bedside manner anyway.”

“Pope?” Sarah says, giving JJ’s arm a final squeeze and then stepping away. “Can you help me with something in the kitchen?”

“What?”

“The, uh, tap is stuck.”

Pope frowns. “It is?” 

Sarah rolls her eyes and takes his wrist, dragging him out the room as he protests about using the tap only minutes before and it being completely fine and leaving just JJ and Kiara in the living room alone. JJ puts his hands in his pockets.

“First-degree,” Kiara says. “That’s all it was.”

“Still bad enough it has a name.”

“ _My_ _plants_ caused the most damage.”

JJ doesn’t respond. Kiara sighs.

“JJ. Come here.”

“Wouldn’t want to burn through the couch again.”

Kiara stands, then, steps right up to him. This close, looking up at him, he can see the smooth skin of her neck, completely healed, aside from some light bruises changing colour right before his eyes; he keeps his eyes down until they have all completely disappeared into the brown of her skin.

“You’re not dangerous,” she says.

“I hurt you.”

“I hurt me too.”

He gives her a look. She takes his hand, puts it back on her shoulder, right where it was before. He feels himself stiffen, his hand tensing in her own, but he doesn’t move it; lets her handle him. Her gaze holds his defiantly. “See?” she says.

“This doesn’t prove anything.”

“This proves,” Kiara says, “that I trust you. That you’re not dangerous; that you’d never intentionally hurt me. JJ, I _know_ you. You’d do almost anything before you’d lay a hand on any of us.”

“But what if that’s not enough?” JJ says. “What if it just happens?”

Something in her eyes changes. “JJ--”

He purposely steps out of the cradle of her arms, his hand dropping to his side. Kiara’s eyes flicker. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says. 

“JJ--”

“I just need to clear my head.”

He’s out the door before she can protest. It slams it behind him, reverberating him like a death knell.

**Author's Note:**

> mia: i can't honestly say how this came around but it was the most fun i've had writing a fic in a long time, which is due in part to my collab partner annie who is admittedly pretty cool. even cooler than antique knife restoration videos some may say. (certainly not me though.)
> 
> part 2 should be up soon-ish!! hope u enjoyed :]
> 
> Annie: Mia is super fun to work with and this level of fun-ness may only be surpassed by her talent. holy shit this girl can write. I've had my eye on a collab for a while (just so I can put my name to her writing tbh) and she did not let me down. Mia. U r okay. I guess.


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